


Make The Yuletide Gay

by lookingfortherainbow



Series: Advent Calendar Fics of 2020 [17]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Harry Styles, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Homeless Louis Tomlinson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New York City, Pen Pals, Postcards, Singer Louis Tomlinson, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: The next one he looked at was a group photo of the man with people that looked like his family, based on the resemblance, along with the same man from the other photo. Harry flipped the card over, rewarded with another tidbit of information.‘First big performance w/ Zayn and Family.’As Harry kept sifting through the photos, he realized this must’ve belonged to the man that lived here before him.“Holy shit, I know what you look like,” Harry gasped, talking to a snap of the handsome man with a cigarette in his mouth, one hand clutching a large bottle of vodka, and his arm around what must’ve been another friend.*Or, Harry receives postcards from the person who used to live in the apartment he just moved into. He finds out he's fallen on bad luck. Harry figures, what better time to open his heart and home to someone than Christmas time?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Advent Calendar Fics of 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037256
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Make The Yuletide Gay

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [picture](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/508273507942487874/sent/?invite_code=145fc0b58eac40779cf285939f19a6b5&sender=366480625835724655&sfo=1)
> 
> I'm tempted to write more from this 'verse because there's so much left unsaid. Again, stupid work obligations got in the way. Maybe tomorrow's fic will be a continuation.   
> Let me know how you like it! <3

_ Hey,  _

_ I used to live in your apartment. I’m drunk in boston, and it’s the only address I know.  _

_ Happy Holidays, _

_ LT _

Harry stared at the postcard in his hand, the rest of his mail held in his other one, forgotten. Amongst all the bills and junk mail was a postcard that he hadn’t been expecting at all. He flipped it over again, looking at the glossy picture of a snowy skyline, the letters, ‘Boston, Massachusetts’, in bold font at the bottom. 

For some reason, the letter made Harry sad. What stranger didn’t have any other addresses, except for his own previous one, to send a card to. He pictured someone cold and freezing, drinking from a bottle in a paper bag, buying the card with bleary eyes. Harry worried for this person’s well-being. What if they had no place to keep them warm? What if they had nowhere to spend their Christmas?

Sure, the holidays would be pretty lonely for Harry, himself, being that he’d only moved into this New York City apartment a month ago to pursue acting, and his family was all the way back in Wisconsin. Travel expenses and schedule conflicts would prevent him from celebrating Christmas day with them. Despite his own miserable situation, he couldn’t imagine how horrible it’d be to know you were left out in the cold, all alone, especially during this supposedly festive time. 

There was no return address, so Harry put the card gently on his windowsill, because he felt a weird connection to it. He would honor this person as best he could. 

On December fifteenth, a few days later, Harry gasped when he opened his mail, and another postcard fell out. This one was a [postcard](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/94/e7/53/94e7534317326e67177fb4659b2d59e7.jpg) with a yuletide poem on the front, the location now stating it was from Cambridge. 

_ Hey,  _

_ I am drunk. Again.  _

_ Did you know making a yuletide gay will get you disowned by your family?  _

_ I wonder if Santa Clause is homophobic, too.  _

_ LT _

The letter was so short, but Harry’s heart broke as he read the words. “How am I supposed to help you when you won’t even give me your address?” Harry asked the letter. 

He climbed the dirty stairs to his apartment on the second floor. Inside, the tiny space was frigid, and Harry turned on his space heater, sitting on his daybed that worked part-time as a couch. The heater didn’t work, even though the landlord said he’d fix it. Harry looked around the dingy walls where he’d hung posters of broadway musicals, wishing he had enough money to buy a tree. He’d splurged enough as it was though, on a long string of christmas lights that lined where his ceiling met his walls. Working as an understudy didn’t pay much, and his morning shifts at the little mart next to his apartment barely paid him living wage. Still, it was a home. Which was more than he guessed this stranger had. 

Putting the sad thought out of his mind for now and walking to his closet, he grabbed his jacket, thinking about how he needed to get his gift shopping done for his sister. He lifted his arm to pat the shelf above, feeling for his hat. He swore he’d left it there. Standing on his tiptoes, he reached as far back as he could. Instead of soft material, his hand met the hard exterior of what must’ve been a box. 

“What the. . .”

Grunting and groaning, Harry pulled it down. 

It was a brown shoe box that Harry knew was not his own. Hastily, he opened it. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him. 

The box was filled with snapshots, polaroids, reusable camera prints. They all, more or less, involved the same people. There was one attractive man that was in nearly every single one. 

Picking up a polaroid, Harry looked at the oversized, neon green fake glasses the man was wearing, his face stretched into a goofy grin, eyes crossed. His thumb was pointing to a blond haired girl next to him who was dressed in party clothes. 

_ ‘Lottie’s first New York experience’. _

He picked up another one, this one of the man dressed in a smart suit with another very attractive man with dark hair and lots of tattoos, both of them smoking tiny joints, one of them holding a microphone. The background looked like a dressing room with the way the mirror was surrounded by large, exposed bulbs. 

_ ‘Curing pre-show jitters with Zayn.’ _

The next one he looked at was a group photo of the man with people that looked like his family, based on the resemblance, along with the same man from the other photo. Harry flipped the card over, rewarded with another tidbit of information.

_ ‘First big performance w/ Zayn and Family.’ _

As Harry kept sifting through the photos, he realized this must’ve belonged to the man that lived here before him. 

“Holy shit, I know what you look like,” Harry gasped, talking to a snap of the handsome man with a cigarette in his mouth, one hand clutching a large bottle of vodka, and his arm around what must’ve been another friend. 

‘Last party with the AnNiallinator, the only thing NYC’s good for’, stated the scrawl on the back of that one. 

That night, Harry laid in bed, thinking about the stranger who lived here before him. He seemed to have been pursuing his own dreams, just as Harry was. Maybe he wanted to be a big singer. Had he really given up on all of that just to galavant through Massachusetts? Perhaps being disowned by his own family for being gay had taken all his joy, hope, passion. Harry couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he didn’t have the support of his mom and sister.

He sent out love to the man, hoping maybe, wherever he was in Cambridge, he felt a little warmer inside. 

Three days later, Harry received another letter. This time he ran up the steps to his apartment, tearing off his coat, and settling on the couch to properly read the small message scribbled on it. 

_ Hey, _

_ I was going to say you’re a shitty penpal. Then I remembered you don’t have my address. Alcohol is harsh on the memory part of the brain.  _

_ Enjoy your gift. I sucked a guy’s dick to get enough money for it. Kidding. . .Maybe. _

_ Drink and be merry for me,  _

_ LT _

“Oh my god,” Harry muttered, looking at the package sitting on his daybed that he’d brought up with the rest of the mail. 

There, on a festive tag was his address, as well as the other man’s. He ripped open the simple packaging to find a bottle of expensive wine. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Some random stranger had gifted him with wine when he possibly didn’t even have a home. 

Then, Harry remembered that the stranger had attached his address. He looked at it, finding it to be located in Athol, Massachusetts this time. 

“Man, you sure do get around,” Harry mumbled, “Hope you stay in one place long enough to get  _ your _ gift.”

Promptly, he rushed out of his apartment and bought an assortment of little gifts from the local dollar tree store. Against his better judgement, he decided to dip into his savings to gift the man with a Visa gift card, as well. He compiled all the gifts into a large box, placing the shoebox in with them. He’d thought for a moment if maybe the stranger left them behind on purpose. Sometimes, memories were painful to look at. And it sure did seem like the man was keen on erasing his short-term supply of them, if his drunken postcards were anything to go by. Nevertheless, they weren’t Harry’s, no matter how much he liked them, so he included them in his gift box with a postcard.

_ ‘Here’s to you staying warm and buying yourself something nice.  _

_ You deserve it. _

_ Love, H xx’ _

After he sent the gifts, there was radio silence. Until three days before Christmas. Harry had finally gotten to perform in the Christmas play he was an understudy for. He’d ridden the train home on a high, bits of stage makeup still clinging to his face. He’d forgotten a couple lines, but it was nothing his wit and improvisation couldn’t handle. 

When he unlocked the rickety door to the tiny lobby of his apartment, the area where all the mailboxes were located, he almost tripped on the human lump slumped on the floor. 

“Shit, man, you okay--Oh my god!”

“Ya know what they say. . .home is where the heart is,” LT, the very man who’d been writing to him slurred, pointing a shaking finger at Harry.

“You’re--You’re--”

“Louis Tomlinson. Nice t’meet ya in person,” Louis held out a hand clothed in fingerless gloves. 

He hiccuped, and Harry could smell the booze on him. Even though his eyes were drooping, red rimmed, and his lips were blue enough to match the color of his irises, he looked stunning. 

“You’re s’posed to shake it,” Louis whispered, a goofy smile on his face as he grabbed Harry’s hand and put it in his. 

Harry watched him as he shook their hands. 

“C’mon, you need to get out of this drafty lobby, or you’re going to catch pneumonia.”

Dragging a wasted Louis up the steps was no easy feet, and he kept laughing as he tripped up them. It would’ve been a lovely sound had Harry’s heart not broken with it each time. 

“Do you have anything with you? Clothes? Personal belongings?” Harry asked, as he laid Louis on his bed.

Louis was staring up at him, brows furrowing. Harry studied how much older he looked than the person in the photos, entirely too much older than what he should look like. After a few moments, he reached into his pocket, revealing to Harry the visa card he’d gifted him, as well as a few of the protein bar wrappers, and two of the wrapped chocolates that had been a part of his gift box. 

“Have this,” Louis stated, matter-of-factly. “I threw away those god-awful pictures you sent to me.”

“Oh,” Harry said, wanting to tear up in sympathy for this man. “Well, do you want a shower?”

The man’s eyes were drooping, closing for seconds at a time. He mumbled something. 

“What was that?”

“Said no, just want a cuddle,” Louis grumbled, turning over and already making himself comfortable on Harry’s furniture. 

“I think we can arrange that.”

He took off Louis’ raggy coat, as well as his fingerless gloves. Pulling off his worn sneakers was difficult without Louis’ help, but he managed. Sleeping in jeans couldn’t be comfortable, but Louis was already curling into his bed, pulling helplessly at the corner of his blanket. Harry slipped under them, pulling an extra one on top of the both of them. 

When he wrapped his arms around him, he could feel the shivers that were wracking his body. Harry held him tighter, stroking through his shaggy mane of hair. It didn’t matter to him that he smelled like booze and cigarette smoke. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like this bed was exactly where the man belonged. 

“D’you know what else I have?” Louis said, too loud for the quiet of the apartment. 

He turned around, messing up the cocoon they were wrapped in. Harry was surprised at the bop on his nose that Louis gave him. 

“What else?” Harry asked, curious. 

“Have a really cute penpal,” Louis said, this time tapping a finger against where Harry was chewing on his lip. 

He smiled, feeling Louis’ freezing fingertip rest on his bottom lip. 

“Bunny teeth,” Louis observed, a scratchy chuckle falling from his mouth. 

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“You know, um, I don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, either. And I’d love it if you stayed to celebrate with me.”

Louis still seemed to be transfixed by the movement of Harry’s mouth. It took him a few moments to reply with a simple, “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Harry grinned. 

Louis tapped his finger against Harry’s lips twice, booped his nose with it once, and leaned over to press a brief kiss onto his lips. 

“Goodnight, penpal,” he murmured, turning over and away from Harry’s blushing face. 

“It’s Harry.”

“‘Night, It’s Harry,” Louis slurred before falling asleep.

Harry squeezed him tighter, afraid the best Christmas gift he’d gotten since forever would slip away. 


End file.
